Foo Fighters One Shots

Wipe Out (Taylor)

"You know why I hate surfing with you, Hawkins?" Dave whined and set his board in the sand. "Because you insist on going out at the ass crack of fucking dawn and you refuse to stop for coffee."

"Because we'd still be in the goddamn drive-thru and by the time we got here, it'd be full of barneys clogging up the good waves," Taylor shot back. "If I had known you were going to bitch the entire time, I would have come out by myself, Disco."

They continued to gripe at each other in the way they had done for almost twenty years, showing love with sarcastic barbs and taunts though they both knew it was all in fun. Dave was careful not to push Taylor too far knowing he was still raw from the sudden end of his marriage and had only agreed to go on this surfing trip because he feared Taylor venturing out alone. Not necessarily in the water, Taylor was an excellent surfer, but he didn't want him to be alone with just his thoughts just yet.

"This is a great spot," Dave said, looking around at the small beach fenced on either end by tall rock formations. They were alone that early in the morning, but they could hear a car door slam from the parking lot and knew they had company.

"One of the venue guys suggested it," Taylor replied. 

"Yeah? Did he say it's where all the hot surfer chicks go?" Dave nodded towards the trail and Taylor turned to see a woman stepping out onto the beach wearing black sweats and a hoodie with a black trucker hat pulled low over her blonde hair. She acknowledged them with a nod but continued on down the beach carrying her board and a backpack followed by a big yellow lab that happily trotted along beside her. 

Dave's eyes darted between Taylor and the newcomer when he realized Taylor was staring just a bit too long. "Well...," he said suddenly. "I'm gonna paddle out."

"Yeah, right behind you," Taylor said, turning his attention to his own board. The leash had come undone on the walk out and he sat back against a large rock to fix it. He swore at the chill that the rock sent through his board shorts and tried to find a warmer spot, but failed. The rocks lining the shore in Southern California were always warm and he would sometimes think he was part lizard with how much he loved to lay on the warmth and listen to the waves, but here in Northern California, the rocks didn't hold their heat overnight and the surfers apparently wore sweats to a session. His eyes drifted back to the girl and he tried not to stare, but she shrugged off the hoodie to reveal a black rashguard, then pulled off the hat and shook out her hair, the blonde strands bleached in the way that only hours in the sea and the sun could do. He felt like a complete creep at that point, but he couldn't look away when she shimmied out of her sweats and tossed them aside. She had that surfer's body that made her strong and lean, and when she bent to pick up her board he made an involuntary groaning sound in his throat.

"You all right, man?"

Dave's voice startled him so badly that he tumbled off of the rock he was on and into the sand, swearing the entire time. "Fuck, Disco! Wear a goddamn bell!"

"I've been talking to you for five minutes," Dave laughed. 

"That's shocking," Taylor said sarcastically and scooped up his board. "You never shut the fuck up."

"Careful!" Dave warned as Taylor stormed out into the waves. "There's a school of bass right at the break line."

"Great. I'll get my reel," Taylor grumbled, still pissed that he had been caught staring at a stranger.

The woman's dog barked excitedly and then her laugh drifted across the breeze to them, instantly retrieving Taylor's full attention again. She picked up her board and stepped into the waves, wading until she was waist deep before paddling out. Taylor didn't necessarily mean to mimic her movements, it was just the standard process surfers go through in order to catch a wave, but from where Dave sat on the beach the two of them were perfectly in sync even fifty yards apart.